The Redness Inside
by Mayle
Summary: Sherlock and John go undercover into prison. This spawns Sherlock getting hurt and John coming to the rescue. It leaves Sherlock dazed, weak, and thinking of things he'd tried to ignore. (M for rape and later explicit scenes)
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock knew how to fight. He'd learned Judo. He knew how to handle himself while fighting assassins and professional killers. But these weren't professionals. They were from the streets, where there were no rules and ambushing was totally allowed, and _encouraged. _He'd just assumed that he'd be able to handle himself. Oh god he was wrong. He'd scream, but they'd gagged him. He'd fight or struggle more, but he'd already tried and there were six of them.

He screamed into the gag as the first man entered him. He'd known from the moment he rounded the corner what was going to happen, but he didn't know it would hurt so much. Sherlock couldn't stop the tears from flowing down from his eyes. _Mind palace, mind palace, AAAGGGHHH! _He screamed internally and externally. He felt as though he was being ripped in half starting at his asshole. Sherlock shook hard and settled heavily on whatever box they'd bent him over. He hid his face, trying to stop the screaming sobs.

Then, quite suddenly, the man was pulled away from him roughly. There was a sickening _crunch _followed by shouting and the hands leaving Sherlock's body. Sherlock had no strength to move himself or to turn his head. He lay there limply, sobbing uncontrollably. There were more crunches and thuds behind him, but he couldn't see what was happening. He sucked in several deep breaths, trying to calm his shaking body. It went quiet behind him and he tried to turn his head to look, but he felt fingertips flutter against his bare ass. He whimpered in a pathetically pleading manner.

He heard a voice, but his mind was too foggy to recognize the words or whose voice it was. He felt hands lifting at his feet and sliding something up his legs. He finally managed to turn his head back and see a blonde head behind him. The blonde was pulling his pants up around him, to cover him. The blonde was his savior. The blonde was always his savior. The blonde was his John.

John came around to look at Sherlock's face. He crouched down and brushed some of Sherlock's dark, sweaty curls out of his eyes. Sherlock hated and loved the look of sadness, pity and concern in John's eyes. He let out a choked sound, that was a sob trying to break free, but Sherlock not allowing it to. John pulled off the gag and caressed his face gently.

"Can you move, Sherlock?" he questioned gently.

"A minute," Sherlock whimpered out.

John nodded and continued running his fingertips along Sherlock's cheek. Sherlock gasped in a few breaths, trying to calm himself. It was several minutes filled with gasping and gagging sobs before Sherlock was finally able to speak and think halfway clearly.

"I thought I would be ok," Sherlock whispered.

"It's ok, Sherlock," John answered quietly, "I thought you would be ok too. You know that Judo or whatever it is. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left you."

"You couldn't have known, John," Sherlock disagreed.

"Please, anyone who looks like you do," John rolled his eyes, "I should've known you would attract attention. Especially in a place like this. All these blokes haven't seen any fresh ass in who knows how long. Then you come prancing in with your high cheekbones, lovely curly hair, and nicely plump arse. It shouldn't have been a surprise. I should've looked out for you. That's my job."

Sherlock cleared his throat, pushing down the tears that threatened to well up.

"Damage?" he looked away from John as he said this.

"Nothing serious that I could see," John answered, "But you didn't like me touching you, so I didn't look too closely."

"Look," Sherlock commanded.

"Are you sure you want to do this now?" John questioned, gently.

"Look, John," Sherlock said in a firm voice.

John sighed and moved back around Sherlock. Sherlock shivered as John bared his ass and pressed his fingers against him. Sherlock forced himself to relax, so that John could look properly. John didn't stay back there long. He quickly checked and covered Sherlock once more. He came back around, resuming his crouched position.

"I think you have a tear, love," John said tenderly, "Not too serious. But you need a more thorough check."

"Why can't you do that now?" Sherlock demanded.

"First of all, it's unsanitary," John started, "Second, you're still seriously raw and an examination now would be incredibly painful. Third, you need a more qualified doctor to attend to you."

Sherlock pushed himself up from the stack of crates that he'd just now observed he was lying across. His arms wobbled beneath him.

"No!" Sherlock shouted, "Only you. I don't want anyone else."

John lifted up from his crouched position and reached a hand out to sooth Sherlock. He placed it on his shoulder and looked at the wobbly detective with a firm look.

"We're going to deal with this later," John stated, "After we get out of here. Today. We are not staying. Can you stand up?"

"Yes, but the case-," Sherlock started, but John cut him off.

"No!" he stated firmly, "If we stay, someone else will look at you. If you really only want me to do it, then we need to leave. Besides, I will not have you grabbed again!"

Sherlock debated for several moments and then let out a small sound between a growl and a whimper.

"Let's go home," he answered finally.

He shakily stood to his feet, wincing as the pain shot through him. John automatically put his arm around his waist to steady him. Sherlock leaned heavily against the shorter man.

"When did you last eat, Sherlock?" John questioned.

"I don't remember," Sherlock admitted.

"And when did you last sleep?" John probed.

"Two…maybe three days ago?" Sherlock answered weakly.

John sighed heavily.

"How much do you weigh?" John asked.

"What, why?" Sherlock said in bewilderment.

"Answer."

"Um." Sherlock looked sheepish, "155 pounds."

Suddenly, John bent at the knees and gripped Sherlock around the back of the knees. Then he lifted Sherlock in the air, which shocked Sherlock to no end.

"I've had backpacks bigger than you," John frowned at him, "We need to get you food and medical care right away. No wonder you couldn't fight them off, you silly man."

Sherlock wanted to protest, but John had already started forward with a determined look on his face. Sherlock decided that he probably knew best anyway, he was the doctor, after all. Sherlock felt his heart start beating hard against his chest. He frowned at himself for that. He chose to ignore the rising feeling of adoration and care that was directed towards John.

John headed straight for the warden, ignoring everyone who was wolf whistling at them. He looked straight ahead towards his goal. Towards saving Sherlock. Sherlock felt something lodge in his throat as he looked at John's face. He squeezed his eyes closed, determined to ignore the stupid _feelings _that were manifesting themselves. Not that it was the first time such feelings had come around, but now he was too tired to ignore the fact that he was blatantly in love with John Watson.


	2. Chapter 2

Lestrade frowned at Sherlock, who was currently draped across John's lap. Sherlock could hardly bend over let alone sit down, so John offered his lap. It took several moments, but they'd figured out a way to get Sherlock's ass in-between John's legs so that it wasn't pressed against anything. Sherlock pressed his head closer to John's chest. John prodded his lips with another cracker. Sherlock sighed and ate it.

"Crackers are so dull, John," Sherlock grumbled.

"Doing ok, then, I see," Lestrade said, and then he turned to the warden, "I hope you know the culprits."

"Dr. Watson says that he knows all their faces," the warden answered in a tired voice, "So we're having him come back in tomorrow to pick them out."

"Why can't I-," Sherlock started, but was stopped by John shoving a cracker in his mouth.

He looked up at him with a scowl and John gave him a firm don't-question-right-now-I'll-tell-you-later look. Sherlock closed his mouth and chewed on the disgustingly plain cracker. He tuned out the other three men as they talked about the case and what was going to happen next. He heard Lestrade say something about a doctor and he pressed closer to John, gripping the bright orange shirt.

"I'll examine him," John said firmly, "He's been through enough as it is. He doesn't need a stranger poking around his ass right now."

Lestrade nodded, his eyes flicking to Sherlock briefly, before he started talking again. Finally, John ended the conversation by saying Sherlock needed to be examined and fed a decent meal. Then he stood up, taking Sherlock with him and made for the door. Sherlock peeked over John's shoulder to see that Lestrade was following them. Sherlock was struck by how much Lestrade resembled a Kit Fox. He giggled at that thought. Then the giggling just kept going. He couldn't stop it; he just kept giggling and giggling. John was whispering things to him, but he couldn't hear any of it, because he just couldn't stop giggling!

He wasn't sure when the giggles turned to sobs. He clutched fistfuls of John's shirt and drenched the shoulder of it in tears. John's arms tightened around him and that just made him sob harder. He put his mouth to John's ear, determined to talk to him, though his sobs barely let him.

"They..they…they…." Sherlock sputtered between sobs.

"I know, Sherlock," John whispered, "I know."

_You don't! _Sherlock wanted to scream.

"They…t-took i-it!" Sherlock sobbed into John's ear.

"What?" John asked in confusion.

"I-it w-was mine…t-to guh-give!" Sherlock buried his face into John's neck.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock," John whispered, "I'm so sorry."

Sherlock tried to come back to his senses, but he dissolved into the tears. He floated into space, wanting to run from the pain, but not able to move. He sobbed and sobbed into John, not paying any attention to what happened around him. Somewhere along the way he passed out, still clutching John's now soaked shirt.

* * *

Sherlock's eyes opened slowly. He squinted into the light, though it was very dim.

"You awake, Sherlock?" John whispered.

Sherlock looked at him and blinked several times. He looked around in bewilderment.

"We're home," John said quietly, "This is my room. I wasn't sure if you were ok with me in yours."

Sherlock blinked some more, remembering the events that led up to this moment.

"How long have I been asleep?" he mumbled.

"Nine hours now," John answered, "You need to eat. Wait here and I'll get you something."

Sherlock grabbed John's wrist as he began to slide away.

"Make it quick," he muttered, refusing to look at John.

"Of course," John replied.

Sherlock let go, dropping his hand to the mattress. John hurried out of the room and Sherlock grasped at the sheets were John had been lying. He wished John would hurry. He could smell John's scent lingering there and the small amount of warmth that was hurriedly depleting under his fingertips. He flipped himself so he was face down in the warm spot and buried his nose into the mattress. _Sweat, soap, citrus, _Sherlock rambled in his head.

"Sherlock?" John's voice called out.

Sherlock jumped up and wobbled, falling back down. John hurried over to him and sat down next to him.

"Are you ok?" John inquired softly.

"You took so long," Sherlock whined.

"I'm sorry," John whispered, "I'm here now. So sit up and eat, ok?"

Sherlock lifted himself up slowly and took the bowl that was in John's hands. He grimaced as the pain ran through him, but he ignored it. He ate the stew quickly and shoved the bowl back at John. Then he lay back down, facing away from John, but making sure his back touched John's knee. He heard the sound of something being set down behind him and then the bed shifted as John snuggled in behind him. Sherlock jumped and rolled away, his hands reflexively covering his still-raw area. John frowned slightly.

"Sorry, Sherlock," John said gently, "I wasn't thinking. Come back, please?"

Sherlock relaxed and wiggled forward. John wrapped his arms tightly around his shoulders.

"It's going to be ok," he whispered, "I'm right here. We'll get through, ok?"

Sherlock said nothing. He just buried his face into John's chest. One of John's hands found its way to Sherlock's curls and began petting them slowly, in a soothing manner. Sherlock found it easy to fall back asleep. He sighed into John's chest as he drifted back into the land of dreams.

* * *

**Little note: I'm so surprised by the quick response! I'm so glad you guys like it! Love you all!**


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock whimpered into John's chest and clutched at his shirt. John shook him, trying to get him awake. Sherlock clawed at John, shrieking in pain. John shook him harder. Sherlock choked and pushed away from John. He thrashed, hitting against John.

"SHERLOCK!" John screamed.

Sherlock jerked awake, rolling on to his ass and letting out a screech. He rolled back, landing half onto John. He whimpered into John's ear.

"It hurts," he hissed.

"I know, Sherlock," John answered, "Do you want me to get something to ease the pain?"

"No! Don't leave!" Sherlock cried.

"Ok, ok," John said, soothingly, "It's ok. I'll stay. If you let me touch you, I can massage a bit of the pain away."

Sherlock flinched.

"It's ok, Sherlock," John whispered, "I don't have to. I'm just trying to help."

"Do it," Sherlock said quietly.

"Are you sure?" John questioned hesitantly.

"Do it!" Sherlock snapped.

John jumped slightly. He sighed and his hand inched over to Sherlock. Sherlock tensed up and waited nervously. John's fingers crawled across Sherlock and he shivered. John froze for a moment before continuing. Sherlock winced slightly as John's fingers found the sore area. John's fingers pressed and moved in small circles, soothing the sore areas. Sherlock moaned.

"Oh, that feels good," Sherlock breathed.

John coughed slightly, continuing the ministrations. Sherlock moaned again as the soreness ebbed away slightly. It was still raw inside, but the soreness on the outside was receding away, leaving Sherlock like a cooked piece of spaghetti. He gasped and moaned, loving the massaging fingers that pressed against him.

"You like that?" John whispered in a rather husky voice.

"Yesss," Sherlock groaned, "How are you so good at this?"

"Practice," John answered quietly.

Sherlock turned his head to look at John.

"Why did you practice massaging someone's rear end?" Sherlock asked in confusion.

"Uh. It wasn't someone else's rear end," John answered, "It was my own."

"Why?" Sherlock pressed.

"I, uh, we'll talk about it later, ok?" John muttered.

"Ok," Sherlock agreed, laying his head back down.

"Is that enough?" John questioned, "Is it better?"

"Much better," Sherlock answered brightly.

He regretted it immediately afterwards, as John's fingers retreated.

"We need to get up and eat something," John said, pushing on Sherlock a bit, "And then I need to check for damage."

Sherlock whimpered and pushed himself off of John. John gave a reassuring smile and slid off the bed. Sherlock crawled off the bed. John waited patiently as Sherlock wobbly came to stand next to him.

"You alright?" John asked gently.

"I'm fine," Sherlock answered, "What are we eating? Can I change soon? I'm still wearing these disgustingly orange clothes."

"I think they look nice on you," John smiled sweetly up at him.

He reached up and smoothed out a wrinkle in Sherlock's shirt. Sherlock felt his heart flutter as he looked down at the doctor.

"Thank you," Sherlock said quietly.

"You're quite welcome, love," John answered.

Sherlock smiled down at him, feeling warmth filling him up. He sighed and looked away in an effort to ignore the melting felling inside him. He was afraid if he kept looking he might just melt into a puddle of infatuation or kiss John. The latter seemed more likely. This thought spawned several other thoughts about what it would be like to kiss John. John's lips were rough and chapped. They were thin and pink and when they parted, Sherlock could explore the wet red cave of John's mouth.

"Uh, Sherlock?" John mumbled.

Sherlock blinked, realizing he was towering over John, looking down at the other man's mouth. John cleared his throat and looked away.

"You ok?" John questioned with concern.

"Yes, fine," Sherlock answered, "I was thinking of something else. I apologize."

"It's ok, love," John smiled, "I understand."

John patted Sherlock's face gently before turning towards the door. Sherlock followed behind him, limping in an awful way. He winced as he hobbled to the stairs. He frowned down them, knowing it was going to suck. He took a deep breath, stealing himself for the stairs, but was suddenly lifted in the air. He jerked a bit in surprise.

"No moving, doing this is dangerous enough as it is," John commanded.

Tears sprang into Sherlock's eyes as John started down the stairs. He wrapped his arms around John's neck, holding on tight. He squeezed his eyes closed as they bounced down the stairs. When they got to the bottom, John kept walking and gently put Sherlock down on the couch, careful not to jar his arse too hard. Sherlock looked up as John pulled his arms out from under him.

"What's wrong, love?" John asked, concern clear in his eyes and voice.

He reached his hand to touch Sherlock's cheek in a reassuring way. Time slowed for Sherlock as his mind zipped through the possibilities.

_I tell him I love him. He says he doesn't feel the same. About an 80 percent chance life would continue as normal. 20 percent chance he decides to leave because it's too difficult for him to handle such a thing. If he says he does feel the same there's a 99 percent chance we will get in a relationship and there will be gushy sentiment. 1 percent chance life continues as normal. If we get in a relationship he'll expect sentiment and sex, which I've never had, though I'm sure there's very little to it. I could always ask Mycroft. He seems to have quite a lot of sex with Lestrade. Gross. Sentiment will be the hardest, but it seems to come in troves around John Watson. I have to-_John's hand landed on his cheek.

"I love you!" he blurted.


	4. Chapter 4

The look of concern on John's face turned to a look of great sadness that made Sherlock wish he hadn't said what he'd said. John sat down heavily next to him, taking his right hand in both of his.

"Oh, Sherlock," John whispered, "This really hurt you, didn't it? I thought you'd just snap back like you always do. I'm so sorry, Sherlock. I'm so sorry. I should've been there."

Sherlock stared in confusion as John leaned down and pressed his forehead to Sherlock's hand.

"I'm so sorry," John repeated, "I should've protected you."

"John, did you hear what I said?" Sherlock questioned.

"Yes, I heard," John answered, nodding, "I know it's scary for you. Everything's out of control. You're hurt and scared. You're afraid if you don't make things clear then you'll never have the chance to again. Sherlock, I know. I'm so sorry. And I know you care about me. Why else would you fake your suicide? Sherlock, I love you too. You're my best friend. And I should've been there for you. I'm so sorry."

Sherlock watched as his resilient army doctor dissolved into tears in front of him. He was still incredibly confused. _Does he think I meant some sort of friendly love? That's not what I meant at all! Shit, _Sherlock cursed silently. He rarely cursed and usually it meant he was in serious trouble. Sherlock sighed loudly and pulled John towards him, wrapping his arms around him.

"John, it's not your fault," Sherlock said soothingly, "It's my own fault. I should have been more careful. You did what you could. Thank you."

John turned his head to look up at him, tears still filling his blue eyes. Sherlock's heart jerked in his chest.

"Sherlock, this should be the other way around," John said with a sad smile, "I should be comforting you."

"I don't need comfort," Sherlock stated.

"Yes you do," John said, frowning, "You had a nightmare."

"So?" Sherlock said defensively, "That just means that what happened to me is making itself manifest in my dream state."

John chuckled softly and snuggled into Sherlock's chest, closing his eyes.

"Nothing affects you, does it?" John questioned.

"You do," Sherlock answered.

John's eyes opened back up and he looked at Sherlock.

"What does that mean?" John questioned.

"When you're sad, I feel it," Sherlock answered, "And I want to make you feel better. When you're happy, my own heart skips in joy. When you're mad, it makes me mad or feel guilty, if I'm the one you're mad at. When you smile, I want to smile. When you laugh, I want to laugh. When you cry, I want to cry. When you're hurt I want to kill who hurt you. Even if it's me. When you're pumped with adrenaline I want to grab you and kiss you. When you sigh I want to drink in the breath that made it. When you have nightmares I want to crawl in your mind and chase away the scary things. When you call me love my heart beats weird. When you save me I want to swoon and fall into your arms and stay there forever."

John blinked. Sherlock blinked back. They stayed there, John lying on Sherlock's chest, for several moments. Sherlock waited for John to say something, but it seemed that John had become mute.

"When I said I love you," Sherlock started hesitantly, "I meant I _love _you. In a romantic way. I just never let myself actually succumb to it. Then this happened and it stopped my mind for a moment so my heart could start. And it started for you John."

Sherlock waited again. John blinked again. Sherlock sighed.

"I understand," Sherlock said tiredly, "You just don't want to say anything that will hurt me. It's ok. I don't mind…really. I just figured I should lay it all out on the table."

Sherlock waited some more. John blinked some more. Then he opened his mouth.

"Who are you and what have you done with Sherlock?" John demanded.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow in confusion. John just smiled and leaned up, pressing his lips to Sherlock's for a fraction of a second. That fraction of a second made a million nerves in Sherlock's brain go haywire. He processed all he could about the fleeting kiss. _Softer than I imagined. This must be a chaste kiss. So this means he's telling me he feels the same. Or is he just trying to be nice. It could be th-_ Sherlock's thought train was stopped by John touching his cheek gently.

"Stop thinking, again, ok?" John whispered.

Sherlock hesitantly nodded, pushing away the millions of thoughts that threatened to break through his skull. Sherlock focused on John's face, forcing himself not to process any of the facts that came from John's face. John leaned up and kissed him again.

This time Sherlock felt only John and thought nothing. Shocks went up and down his body, and his skin became extra sensitive, but he processed none of this. He didn't register what it might mean. He only kissed John, gently parting his lips, inviting John to deepen the kiss.

Sherlock suddenly knew why people fell in love. It was for this. These little moments that were filled with only two people. All that mattered were the two people. There was nothing else in the world. There was only thundering hearts and pressing lips. Only gentle hands and the tickle of the other person's breath on your cheek. He decided it may not be a chemical defect after all.

* * *

**Little note: I think that's a good ending, don't you dearies? :) Hope you guys liked the story! And I hope to see some of you on my other fanfiction! Thank you all so much for the reviews, follows, and favorites! I love you all!**


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